Review Summary: I suppose one could use the CD as a coaster or Frisbee. He should avoid doing anything else with it, though.
The human brain is one of the most fantastic and complex devices in the universe. The brain can regulate an organism’s body. The brain can feel emotions and can express them in multiple ways. The brain is capable of establishing a means of communication with other individuals. The brain (or at least
my brain), however, can’t comprehend what some find appealing in the band 3OH!3.
In an effort to solve this perplexing mystery, I decided to stream their new album. Hesitantly, I clicked on the words,
“3OH!3 (NEW ALBUM IN STORES!) on MySpace Music - Free Streaming...”. The image of two insufferable cretins manifested itself on my computer screen, with their names written by their heads. I scrolled down to the “Play” button, still not entirely sure why I was doing so. Taking a deep breath and bracing myself, I clicked, prepared for an onslaught of offensively appalling noise.
For a brief moment, blissful noiselessness filled the air. Suddenly, an array of synthesizers playing a bouncy melody interrupted the silence. Needless to say, the composition I heard was no revelation, but, surprisingly, it was also not the putrid bile I was expecting. I looked down, shocked to see my toe tapping along with the music. I was, oddly enough, enjoying myself. Alas, this joy lasted for only a brief while, as then, then came the second track.
From this very moment, the rapturous bliss was replaced by agonizing torture. Sean Foreman and Nathaniel Motte’s inept, computer-altered voices permeated the air, spewing forth worthless, vapid lyrics. Tepid, uninspired beats, whiny, inept singing and grating, recycled synth and guitar riffs pervade
Streets Of Gold, so the whole album is an uninspired and generic affair. Some interesting melodies are played by the synthesizers, and occasional entertaining passages are sung, but these faint glimmers of hope offer little solace, as the absolutely atrocious vocals and the lukewarm performance ruin these tolerable moments.
Time and time again, lyrical content has saved a musically bland album, or at least prevented it from becoming an absolute failure.
Streets Of Gold has no such salvation. On the contrary, 3OH!3‘s tasteless verse pushes the album from mediocrity into the realm of utter disaster. A variety of topics are covered throughout the album, and Foreman and Motte sing of lost love, the apocalypse, sexual relations between individuals, having parties in their homes, and the band member’s dangerous habits. For an album that aims to do nothing more than be fun, these themes aren’t particularly inappropriate, but the shallow writing is devoid of subtlety, intelligence, or, perhaps worst of all, humor.
To-to-to-touchin on my [censored]
while I'm touchin on your [censored]
You know that we are gonna [censored]
cause I don't give a [censored]
The lines that don’t boast of the singers’ sexual adequacy instead say sugar-coated, trite words about how we should be more caring and loving. And it’s all done without an ounce of either thought or wit or sincerity.
Very rarely is there an album with so few redeeming features as
Streets Of Gold. Frankly, this failure of a composition is almost entirely undeserving of any attention directed towards it. 3OH!3 tries to win respect by singing of how frequently the members engage in sex, by fruitlessly trying to be “deep” and “emotional” while talking about relatively serious topics, and by pretending to be edgy; all they do is inspire contempt.
